Looking Back
by BleedingTwilight
Summary: Galahad always looks back on what was.  Tristan only sees what is.  Will they ever truly be able to understand one another?  One shot about why Galahad remembers Sarmatia better than the rest, but shall never be happy with it.


**Disclaimer: I don't own any thing from the movie King Arthur.**

Looking Back

Everyone looks back at least once in their life. It could be a moment of reflection just before one's final breath. Or, it could the movement of looking over one's shoulder to see what lies behind them before moving on toward the future. Without looking back where can one go? Without a past, one can never truly attain a future because without a history one is simply a ghost living in the interim accepting that their existence is limited.

It was early summer when they finally reached the edge of the Sarmatian steppes. It had taken six long and painful months for the Roman forces to round up the latest batch of soon-to-be cavalrymen. Each boy had no more than fifteen winters of life on the steppes. Each one carrying a different burden upon their young shoulders, but they all shared a common curse. The blood of their forefathers' ran through each of their veins, and with that came the pact that enslaved them to fifteen years of service to an empire not their own.

The days were warm and the nights fresh with the scent of blooming fields saturating the air. Each boy took comfort in the familiarity of one final night in the land of their ancestors because it very well could be their last. No boy feared anything more than being buried in a foreign land, far away from the comfort of their own traditions. Twenty-four boys from ten tribes whose values were as unique as their dialects sat around a small fire trying to hold onto even a moment more of their past. Past, because they were no longer in the safety of their tribes and were faced with the uncertainty of the future. Though their loyalties and feuds differed from tribe to tribe, each boy knew to put aside his differences because the boys sitting around him were the only family he would have, until they were either free of their term of service or buried in the cold earth of another land.

Each boy carried a promise with them. Some promised that they would return, while others promised to fight and possibly die with honor. Others still promised never to forget their heritage.

Already the boys had begun to separate themselves into smaller groups of friends or tribesmen. The four large and burly boys from the northern tribes had become close along the ride thus far. The two eldest known as Dagonet and Bors seemed to watch over the rest of the boys, having already seen their first battle. The two others known as Bedivere and Erik were no less impressive looking than their new friends, but they had not the authority that Bors and Dagonet carried with them.

Several boys of the more friendly and talkative boys had begun to find friendship amongst each other. The dark haired boy with glossy curls named Lancelot seemed to bond quickly with a tall firm looking boy named Kay. Both shared a loquacious personality that had begun to get them into trouble already.

The youngest boys of the group seemed to pack together as well. The untamed looking blond boy named Gawain seemed to take charge of the younger boys. Though he was barely twelve winters himself, he seemed to be able to comfort and control the young ones the easiest. Always by his side was his younger brother Gaheris as well as the youngest of the entire group, who was known as Galahad. Galahad was still afraid of his own shadow at nine years of age, and he was constantly picked on by the Romans if no one was there to stop them. Gawain took the duty of protecting the younger boy from ill intentioned guards.

It was a beautiful night as the boys laid under the stars for one last time on their own soil. They had told each other stories and memories as the fire crackled and sprayed embers into the calm air. Eventually the conversation arrived at what each boy would miss most from their homes. Lancelot went first having been the on to broach the subject.

"I fear that I shall miss my shadow most of all. My younger sister would follow me as though she were a part of me. It will be odd to be without a shadow," he said regretfully as he speared the fire with a stick causing the ashes to rise up.

"I shall miss decent food. I have been out here for nearly three months with these savages and I haven't had a decent meal in all that time," Percival groaned as he poked at what was lying on what would have passed for his plate. The others nodded their heads in agreement as they waited for the next boy to speak up.

"I'll miss Yelena," Dagonet said with a sad smile. "She was the only one for me, and she'll probably never know it."

"I'm sure there will be others where we're going. If not, it is going to be a long fifteen years," Bors said loudly.

"Others, but not Yelena," Dag mumbled as he played with the ring wrapped around his finger that she had given him before he rode off.

"I'll miss my parents," Galahad said meekly when everyone was silent for a few moments. The other boys looked at him with pity, realizing that he was far too young to have to endure the corruption they were bound to face. He should still have been allowed to cling to his mother's skirts, instead of going to war.

Each of the boys took his turn sharing what he had cherished and would therefore miss most. After nearly an hour every boy had shared their thoughts but one. No one actually knew the boy's name even though he had been there longer than the rest of them. He had been the first to be collected. Unlike most of the boys, he was the only one from his tribe to have been collected, and he barely spoke enough for one to be assured that he actually possessed a tongue. When he did speak, it was in a dialect so eastern that only a few of the boys could decipher even enough to get his basic idea. Galahad looked at the feral boy with wild dark hair with braids running through it in different directions.

Had he not been curious, he would have been frightened of the boy, but he was too fascinated to let his nerves react. "What shall you miss," he asked as he moved to sit in front of the dark boy.

A deep grunt was heard from the lean boy, belying his young age. The others didn't say anything, but a few just turned to their own meager meals and ignored him. Galahad asked again what the boy would miss most, and then he was met face to face with the sharp features of the untamed boy. Black arrow markings on his cheeks whispered of his wildness without him having to explain it. "I shall miss, not having to reflect on useless things such as the past. We are warriors now. We have no past, and if we are lucky we shall have no future either," he growled with the thickest accented Latin any of the boys had ever heard.

Galahad immediately crawled back toward Gawain and the other boys, as the wild one spoke. Each boy added space between themselves and the boy before going back to their conversation. They would not condemn him, so they left him to his solitude. Not long after one of the Roman soldiers called over, "Tristan, scout ahead. Livius wishes to reach the coast by tomorrow evening. See what you can do about some food too, while you're at it." The other boys just looked around to see who Tristan was, when they noticed the wild boy stand with the grace of a cat. He seemed to glide over to his horse's side before mounting effortlessly, and riding off without so much as a word to anyone.

The group just watched his retreating form before Dagonet spoke. "He has been too much on his own. He knows not what it is to have friendship," were his wise words. All of the others just simply accepted this, except for Galahad. The youngest boy was not so easily satisfied to believe that the lonely boy didn't know what it was to have a past or a friend. He would prove him wrong.

As the sun made its daily ascent into the sky, the boys broke their camp and followed the Romans toward what would presumably be the coast. Most of them had never seen an ocean or sea before and the experience was exciting. That was until they learned what it was to be seasick. The group met Tristan at midday, and he conversed with the man who had called him the night before until he tiredly rejoined the lines. Galahad decided to ride beside him while he hunched exhaustedly in the saddle.

"So you are Tristan," Galahad asked quietly. He received a bored nod so he ventured a little further. "When shall we reach the coast," the final word rolled off his tongue like molasses because it stuck in places and dragged out in others. He had obviously not heard of such a place before.

"In time," Tristan replied vaguely as he retreated into his cloak so that one could no longer discern his visage. "But once we reach the ocean, most of us shall never see these open fields again. Remember that before you become too eager."

Galahad was suddenly no longer in high spirits. He retreated to Gawain side quickly before he too hid within his cloak. The other boys glared at Tristan for what ever he had said to upset the boy, but moved on without confrontation. When the coast was finally in sight, it quickly sunk in that they were leaving most likely forever. Each boy took a short glance back at the lush landscape of their past. That is all except Tristan and Galahad. Tristan did not bother to look behind him, knowing that nothing lay behind him that he had not seen before. Galahad, however, had not taken his eyes off the endless sea of grass that had been his home for his entire life. He would not let it go so easily as Tristan could. He wanted to hold onto it until he returned many years from that moment, or he would carry it to the grave. Either way, Sarmatia would never leave his young mind.

Even once the boys were all ushered onto the ships that would carry them to they new home, Galahad still did not take his eyes off the steppes. Gawain stood next to him before the boat began to move, but once the rocking and swaying of the sea was underway he retreated to a less shaky area. Galahad did not notice the sickness around him as many of the other boys rushed to the sides of the ship to relieve their lurching stomachs. He watched the land mass until it was just a speck on the horizon. That was when Tristan joined him in his calm alertness.

"I may never return to my mother," Galahad said nearly in tears. "What if I never see it again? What if you are right and I have neither a past nor a future?"

"You shall never be like me. You shall always have a past because you are willing to look back upon it. Therefore you shall have a future. Of that, I am certain," the quiet boy said with wisdom beyond his years.

"How many years are you Tristan," Galahad asked in curiosity.

Tristan just shrugged before saying, "I no longer remember." It made Galahad sad to think that a boy so young could be so vacant. He hoped that he would not be the same when he reached Tristan's age which seemed much further off than it truly was. They stood there watching the rolling of the seas as the other boys found suitable places to empty their stomachs or aid those who were.

"Why do you not look back," the young boy asked bluntly.

"There is nothing to look back upon," Tristan once again answered vaguely.

"What does that mean?"

"I hope you shall never have the misfortune to understand of what I speak," Tristan said vacantly as he patted Galahad on the back before retreating into a secluded portion of the ship.

XxXxXxX

When they reached Britain it was a terrible surprise. It had not ceased raining for the past day and all of the boys were soaked to the bone and weary from days of illness or exhaustion. No one rejoiced as they stepped off the ship as one would have expected from such a large number of un-seaworthy boys. Tristan was the first boy off, right behind the Roman contingent. He barely seemed to notice that it was raining as he immediately mounted his stallion which matched the grey clouds hanging in the dreary sky. The others slowly crawled from the ship slowly, some still green with the motion of the ship.

Galahad didn't wish to step off the boat as he continuously glanced back over the sea in the direction they had come from. Livius called for all the boys to line up, but Galahad had yet to remove himself from the ship. Gawain was in no condition to really even stand, so he could not go to persuade the stubborn boy to listen to his superiors. Instead, Livius barked for Galahad to step off the ship and join the ranks or face punishment.

For several moments, it seemed as though Galahad did not hear a word that was barked at him in a language he barely understood. All the young Sarmatian noticed was the stark contrast to his home. The thick blanket of black clouds and the rocky, cliffy shores were nothing like the endless steppes of Sarmatia. He was no longer home, and he could no longer see the past on the horizon as he had on the open sea. He was frightened that perhaps Tristan had been right about having no past.

All of the boys frozen as Livius dismounted from his steed and began to stalk toward the young Galahad. Gawain called out for his charge to get his ass into the ranks before he no longer had one, but his warnings were ignored. No boy was willing to actually leave the ranks to retrieve him, but they also didn't want to see him hurt.

Galahad was so upset by his discovery that he glanced at the frigid waters lapping against the side of the boat. Livius was nearly to the ramp of the boat when Tristan turned his mount around from where he had been beside a Roman soldier. Quickly but steadily, he trotted past Livius and up the ramp onto the ship, just as Galahad was climbing the side to plunge himself into the sea. Before Galahad knew what was happening, a strong arm grasped the back of his collar and hauled him into the saddle in front of someone.

"Just because you cannot see it, does not mean it isn't there. However, it is not wise to ignore what you can see just because you are searching for the invisible," Tristan growled as he turned back toward the lines. As he passed the commander he stopped and spoke in halting Latin. "He saw a fish, and was fascinated by it," Tristan lied before saying, "He is too young to have learned your language. Yelling will do nothing if he does not understand."

"I will be obeyed," Livius growled as he went to grab Galahad from where he was seated.

Tristan just maneuvered his stallion out of Livius' grasp before promising. "I shall make sure he knows and follows orders. Whatever punishment you have for him, I will bear."

"Very well, scout. If he gets into trouble it is your back I shall be flaying, so I suggest keeping an eye on him," the commander fumed as he turned back to the lines.

XxXxXxX

The knights spared amongst each other as they honed their skills. It was summer once again, and for a brief time the sun was actually shining upon Hadrian's Wall. All of the knights had stripped to the waist due to the rare heat. Many of the women of the fort gathered to watch the spectacle. Scars stretched and danced as each man wielded his weapon of choice with skill that came with ten years of training and combat. Those who still lived were the fiercest warriors Britain had ever seen.

Galahad stood to the side with his bow in hand waiting for Gaheris to finish his set. Gaheris' aim had not improved in ten years, and those nearby just prayed that they would not fall victim to his poor aim. As Gaheris finished, Galahad stepped forward and took his stance. He let one arrow fly, but before he could release a second, someone else's arrow split his own. Galahad whipped around to see Tristan smirking behind him. "You're not being funny," Galahad grumbled which only succeeded in causing the scout more subtle mirth.

"You would be able to do that too if you weren't so focused on where it will go or if you placed you feet right when you took your stance. Focus on the moment and nothing else. You still look back too much," Tristan said as he walked past Galahad to retrieve his arrow.

"At least I have a past," Galahad said as Tristan returned to him. The scout just smirked and walked toward the practice field before pausing.

"What good is a past or a future if it only succeeds in distracting you," he asked as he too removed his tunic in order to spar. Tristan, however, bore the scars of many beatings endure for the sake of a stubborn little knight in the early days of their service. Galahad didn't like to see them because they made him feel indebted to the scout, and Tristan didn't often show them because they drew too many questions about his history to the fore.

XxXxXxX

Galahad stood beside Gawain as they watched Gaheris' grave. Both of them could not tear themselves away from the pain of losing a brother or friend. It seemed like hours before Galahad finally gave in to the cold air and moved off toward the warm tavern. As he walked he saw the scout sitting beside one of the graves eating an apple. He paused as he walked to speak. "Why do you sit in a graveyard if you do not like to remember anything?"

"It is quiet here and the dead ask me no questions," Tristan replied as he slipped a wedge of apple past his full lips.

"Why did you give Gawain a dagger for the grave," Galahad asked a bit angrily. Tristan had never spoken to Gaheris; he had no right to bestow gifts upon a man he didn't care for.

"The dead should never be buried without a gift to barter for passage to the otherworld. It is disrespectful to leave a friend without way to find peace," Tristan replied as he rose and began to walk away. "If you cannot move forward, you are forced to look behind. It is not fair to force one to look back on their life for eternity." With that said he disappeared into the mist.

XxXxXxX

"_Why do you not look back," the young boy asked bluntly._

"_There is nothing to look back upon," Tristan once again answered vaguely. _

Fifteen years, and Galahad still did not truly understand. Tristan had been a ghost for most of their service together, only joining conversation when it suited him. Now, before him lay the ghost, looking more human than ever. Only death could make Galahad believe that the scout had ever truly been alive. Tristan had been right. He had no past which only granted him no future. Arthur had taken Lancelot's body and was preparing it to be burned. Gawain had taken Lancelot's armor to clean and shine for his grave. Bors had removed Tristan's affects and left to tend to them and prepare them for the grave. Galahad had been left in the frenzy to prepare the body of the only knight he truly didn't know.

He would have even traded places with Jols and Ganis who were left to dig a grave for Tristan's now vacant body. Galahad sat across from the cooling corpse of a man who bewildered him from the first time they spoke. Over the years, Galahad came to believe that Tristan was simply a ghost that they all could see. He was rarely injured, and Galahad could never recall actually seeing him bleed. But now the man who he thought invincible lay dead before his very eyes.

Galahad could feel the sun beginning to set as he simply stared at his fallen comrade. Before Galahad could bring himself to his task of cleaning and clothing the body, his memories began to assault him. For fifteen years, Galahad had never heard Tristan speak of a former home, family, lover, or life. Tristan had never let on that he had even truly existed before being enlisted by Rome. For fifteen years, Tristan had told Galahad that there was no reason to look back. For fifteen years Tristan had existed only in the moment, and within a moment he had no longer existed.

Galahad remembered when they were on the ice just before Dagonet had been taken from them. Tristan had said he never liked looking over his shoulder. When they had lost their first comrade nearly fifteen years ago, Tristan had told him that there was no use in morning because the past could never be change. It simply was. Galahad remembered every burial he had attended for another knight. At each one someone would place a beautiful gift on the grave, and only Galahad knew that every gift had come from Tristan. Galahad had never had the courage to ask why Tristan went out of his way to find something to place on each grave, but he knew that even if he had the scout would have simply replied in vague phrases.

Galahad shook himself from his memories. He knew that he would have to finish this task soon or else they could not bury Tristan in the morning. As Galahad approached he noticed the slash marks across Tristan's torso. None of them were from battle except those he received from the Saxon leader. The rest were from lashes he had taken in place of the others. Galahad was often the one Tristan took a beating for, but the scout had never uttered a word of complaint. Galahad doubted that Tristan even noticed his own scars because after all they were reminders of the past.

Galahad just stared at the body that once belonged to the strongest man he had ever known. Galahad and Tristan had never been friends like he and Gaheris, but Tristan's demise was no less painful to experience.

As Galahad cleaned the body, he realized that Tristan had never said he would return to Sarmatia. Tristan had never said anything about himself. Galahad remembered the look on Tristan's face when the Saxon drums beat and frightened the horses. Tristan had refused to look back his entire life. He had developed no connections or duties outside of scouting. He had always ridden at the back of the line looking forward or had ridden ahead to scout. Tristan had never looked back on anything in his life. He was a man that solely looked straight ahead, not to the future but at the present. On Badon Hill, Tristan had broken the only rule he lived by. He had looked back, and he had seen that he could not run from the last fifteen years as he had done to the first fifteen of his life. He had seen the friendships he had made without realizing it. He had seen the battle he had grown to love. He had seen that he had a past because he looked back, and now he was dead because of it.

Galahad looked at the vacant face of the former scout. It was still covered with his hair, so Galahad easily brushed it away. Tristan's face looked more relaxed than he had ever seen it, and surprisingly Tristan did not look as old as Galahad thought him to be. Tristan had always been right about anything he felt the need to comment on. He had been right when he claimed he would never have a future. Fifteen years had simply been a drawn out moment to Tristan. Now it had ended, and so had he. Galahad finally understood, to a degree, why Tristan did not look back. To look back would mean that what lay behind him had power over him. Looking back meant feeling something other than indifference for what he experienced. To look over his shoulder meant he was not an island; he was actually connected to something or someone else.

Galahad sat down with tears in his eyes as he watched the man he had so often hated. Tristan had looked back because he valued them all in his own way. He placed gifts at their graves because before this, that was the only way he could show that he cared. Tristan had no future because he had achieved what he wanted. Tristan did not want to look back because the past had held nothing for him. Tristan had no future because he knew that once he found what he longer for, his time would be up. Tristan had always told him that he would always look back. Galahad remembered when Tristan finally explained it too him.

"_Why do you always say that I must stop looking behind me? Is it not good to know what lies behind you," a young Galahad asked as he steadied his aim._

"_If you constantly look behind you, you will miss what lies before you," Tristan answered in a clipped tone._

"_Why do you still have to pick on me because I can still remember Sarmatia? Why do you always pick on me about it," Galahad asked angrily._

"_I am not picking on you," Tristan answered coldly._

"_Then what are you doing?"_

"_Everything you want is in the past, Pup. You cannot understand this, but you must put aside the past to achieve the future. You can remember Sarmatia, but it is only a memory. If you hold that forever, nothing will be able to replace I; not even the open steppes when you return to them will seem as wonderful. To grasp what you long for you must look ahead not behind. You are just too afraid to do so," Tristan explained with more words than Galahad had ever heard come out of his mouth at once. That, however, didn't mean that Galahad understood it._

Tristan had been too afraid too look back for fear of finding what he wanted, and Galahad was too naïve to look forward to see his wishes fulfilled. Tristan had been right, Galahad had always looked back. It had started when he could not tear his eyes away from the open steppes, but it would end here. Galahad clothed Tristan's stiff body, and finished the preparations.

As the sun rose, he stood beside Gawain in the small graveyard. Once everyone had left, Galahad returned carrying a small wild flower. He placed it on the mound of Tristan's grave, and bowed his head.

"I didn't know what to give you because you had never been one to acquire things, but I thought this was good enough. A wild flower has no past because it only rises once, and it has no future because it has been picked to rest with you. I thought it fit you," Galahad said as he walked away. "I hope that is enough for you to find the peace you searched for."

Arthur and Guinevere were wed the following day, and no sooner had the ceremony ended than Galahad was seen riding out toward the coast. Gawain had promised to follow soon afterward and meet him at the boat, but Galahad had needed to start out immediately. He didn't look back as he left, though he would never forget his time at the fort with his brothers. However, now he had a future to look forward to and a past he could recall once he had what he longed for.

XxXxX

Another one shot, I hope you liked it. I wanted to write a story about Galahad, but Tristan worked his way into anyway. Please tell me what you thought of it, reviews are always appreciated.


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